


Walls Will Crumble

by gaytoxe



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Recovery, postgame au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 17:28:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytoxe/pseuds/gaytoxe
Summary: The road to recovery isn't easy. But Momota doesn't have to face it alone.





	1. Guilty Bleeding

**Author's Note:**

> first fic i've posted and it's postgame,,  
hi! i'm meredith or mere. if you'd like to talk to me on other platforms i'm more active on, my discord is oh shit a rat#3182 and my tumblr is @gaytoxe!

The hospital room Momota rests in is filled with white, and he’s gotten so used to the color that it doesn’t burn his eyes when someone flicks the light on to hand him breakfast or to tell him good morning. It used to bug him, but now, he’s sort of numb to it.

He’s tired. Tired of staring at the same walls, the same view of the parking lot outside with all the cars zipping by in what seems to be a blur.

He keeps his heroic smile on despite his doubts and his newfound fear, however most of the time it’s never truly a real smile he’s showing.

The words “I’m fine” and “you don’t have to worry” are still fresh on his tongue, and his illness is almost completely gone from his system; he barely coughs anymore. Even though he’s happy about it all finally being over, he still feels trapped.

In his dreams, it’s like and endless darkness surrounds him in that exisal. There’s no comfort, and there’s certainly no light to be seen.

Everything is okay, and everyone is alive, but sometimes he wonders what would’ve happened if everyone really died.

The press is closed down on his final partner in crime, and the crimson liquid that oozes from it is almost never ending. Disgust, remorse and sadness all spiral in his stomach at the same time, and Kaito almost wants to vomit as he sees the vision.

It hasn’t been long since his recovery, and the nurses don’t stop telling him he’s lucky.

It sure as hell doesn’t feel fucking lucky in his shoes right now, even if he already knows that he wouldn’t give in to some disease. He’s Kaito Momota, Luminary Of The Stars; he’s strong.

Staring at the drawn curtains of the window beside his bed, Kaito’s head finds itself slowly moving to rest down in the palm of his hand, and his eyes are half-lidded. Everything is so bright outside, but he sure as hell doesn’t feel bright.

Snapping back to reality once more, his pride shrinks back down.

Solitude hasn’t done him very well; in fact, he sometimes wishes he could just put on that hero act again so he could possibly distract himself from all the swarming thoughts that cloud his mind when he stares off into space. Lying to himself during the killing game he was forced into eerily distracted him from the truth that he could lose all of his friends.

The therapy Team Danganronpa signed him up for isn’t helping that much; he still hides his emotions, and he still doesn’t stop telling people “I’m fine”. It’s better for everyone to envision him as the hero instead.

It’s what they need, but it’s not what he needs.

“Open up to people,” his therapist says. “You don’t always have to be a strong pillar that can deal with all these problems.”

Damnit, why can’t he just go back to normal?

Growing bored of the window view, he flops back down onto his hospital bed.

He’s fine, everyone else is fine, no one is dead.

So why doesn’t he feel alive?

He feels dead, just like he did in that damned hangar.

The same hydraulic press he ruined to carry out a plan weighs heavy on him and it’s as if he’s drowning in his guilt, even if he knows that Ouma is just down the hall. Alive, but not necessarily well. He doesn’t run his mouth that much anymore. In fact, he’s painfully quiet.

Every single moment he thinks about the press and Ouma’s plan is another moment he wonders if he’s the reason why the guy is so messed up now.

Guilt tugs and grips tighter at his body and soul, refusing to give in at that point.

And just like that, his heart monitor is starting to beep and beep faster and faster.

He’s scared. Scared that things won’t be okay, scared that he’ll keep having the same nightmares, scared that he won’t be able to stop imagining and thinking and dreaming about what happened in the hangar. And, stupidly enough, he wakes up feeling like he can’t move, as if there’s no reason to.

He wishes it’d stop; he wants to go back to being happy and cheerful and motivating. He wants to prove to everyone that they can get out of this damned defeat and can pick themselves back up again with his help.

The despair bubbles in his stomach and the urge to vomit starts to flourish until it’s unbearable, so his hand instinctively clutches his stomach as beads of sweat slowly form on his forehead. He’s sick of it.

The emotional wounds are fresh on his mind, and he’s unsure of what actions he’s supposed to take.

Sitting here and allowing guilt to overcome his entire mind isn’t doing him very well; he knows he has to do something. He’s not going to let things get to him anymore than they already have.

So he grabs onto that small ray of light and starts trying to expand it in every way he can.

No matter how many times it’s going to take, he’s going to motivate everyone again.

But if he’s going to do that, he requires a partner. Even though he’s stubborn, Kaito knows he can’t do it all on his own, even if he wants it to be that way.

And even though it seems hopeless, he knows he wants to do something about it, too.

Maybe, just maybe, he can reach out to him. To Ouma.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll find passion in his voyage to bring light to the dark void he knows everyone is trapped in.


	2. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hallways are dark, but standing in front of the white door, Kaito can vaguely note a plate resting on it with the name ‘Ouma Kokichi’ embedded into it.
> 
> All the words he wants to say, all the things he wishes he could revoke from memory are jumbled in his mind and for a moment he reconsiders returning to his room and thinking over this plan of his a little more.
> 
> But he can’t do that now, not when he’s already there. If he doesn’t do it soon, he’ll lose that spark in his soul he’s expanding with all the strength he possesses.

The hallways are dark, but standing in front of the white door, Kaito can vaguely note a plate resting on it with the name ‘Ouma Kokichi’ embedded into it.

All the words he wants to say, all the things he wishes he could revoke from memory are jumbled in his mind and for a moment he reconsiders returning to his room and thinking over this plan of his a little more.

But he can’t do that now, not when he’s already there. If he doesn’t do it soon, he’ll lose that spark in his soul he’s expanding with all the strength he possesses.

Vision clouding and body growing limp, the nameplate he’s staring intently at begins to cloud.

He won’t be able to apologize, and he won’t be able to set things right. For so long, he’s wanted to say so many things. He’s wanted to apologize, and he’s wanted to fix everything.

This might be his only chance, so he’s gotta take what he can to carry everyone to salvation. That starts with Ouma.

His hand fidgets and shakes for a few moments before he clenches and unclenches it, allowing a deep breath into his oxygen-hungry lungs. He’s been holding his breath without realizing it.

The nameplate becomes visible and clear again, and Kaito runs a hand through his hair.

It’s finally time to see him face to face without all the blood he imagines him having all over.

His open hand is replaced with a fist and he raises it up to the pale white door, and everything charges at him in a rush. One hand one inch from the door, guilt swirls and twists in his stomach.

At one point, that was enough to force him to vomit.

But this time, he’s not giving in to a damn feeling. He’s Kaito Momota, Luminary Of The Stars. A hero like him isn’t weak enough to surrender to natural urges, and it’s certainly not what he needs.

He’s sure nurses and doctors definitely don’t want to see his vomit plastering the door and end up having to clean the icky mess, either.

Unlike all the times before, he’s dead set on knocking on that door. A soft knock echoes faintly through the quiet halls of the hospital, and his lips part to speak even though he’s unsure he’ll receive an answer.

“Ouma?” His voice is raspy and far from completely confident as it used to be, and for a split second, he envisions the thick crimson blood splattered on the floor from his intense coughing and hacking. His air pipe used to screech at him to continue because of how long he’d been holding all of that damned illness back.

Even though those days are over, he still imagines it so vividly. The stress in his body from his rebellious actions against it in order to continue his facade of confidence and unbreakable motivation, the helplessness he felt from how he still couldn’t fix it.

Nothing responds and he’s left with a husky and dragged out silence, one that feels so familiar.

Resting on the doorknob, his hand twists and slowly creaks the door open. He pokes his head inside and as soon as he spots Ouma, he’s frozen in place in the doorway.

Purple hair curls in a mess and bandages adorn his skinny, almost bony arms and frame. And his purple irises are almost desolate if not for the moonlight illuminating them through his wide open window.

The first thing that pops into Kaito’s mind ends up being the question of if he’s given up before he shoves it out of his mind. He can’t doubt him; not now.

His stature continues to stiffen, and he’s stuck in place until he blinks due to a warm breeze flowing in through that wide open window. It brushes against his face, and he’s snapped back to reality.

Their eyes meet for just a moment before Ouma’s avert toward the window, an expression Kaito can’t quite read just yet settled on his face.

“Listen, Ouma, I-“ he stops himself before any other words (or sounds for that matter) escape his lips. Husky as his voice is, it doesn’t hide how shaky and how it’s wavering.

He expected to be able to talk with ease, but even that was a stretch. With everything storming in his mind and how terrible Ouma looks, it takes him a while to truly settle himself on what he wants to tell him.

“I- I just wanted to say I know I’ve always treated you badly, and- and I- I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry for doubting you- God, Ouma, I- I’m sorry for killing you,” he croaks, tears filling behind his eyelids and threatening to escape him.

Seeing him like this, weak and almost lifeless, really stings him in such an intense way he can’t even come up with words to describe. All he can say is sorry and stumble through his words as he does.

“An- And I know that saying sorry isn’t gonna fix what happened,” he continues, “bu- but I couldn’t show my face here without saying it.”

The truth pours out from his mouth and sinks into the air, leaving the same stillness that’s heavy and light as in the hangar. Dark and somber. Cold and isolated with only the two of them.

All the things he’s done, every choice he made in that damned killing game, he regrets. Regrets and wishes he could make better, could change and understand the consequences from the start.

And, more than anything, he wishes he could take back all the resentment and coldness he showed the fragile boy in front of him.

“I’m sorry, too.” Ouma’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and Kaito blinks, noticing that he’s staring him right in the eyes now. It starts to chip at him, peering right into those irises of desolateness and solitude.

“Wh- Why are you apologizing? Don’t- don’t apologize,” he tries to tell him steadily.

Ouma’s expressionless features falter and his lips curl down to a frown, a twinkle in his eyes that Kaito understands too well to be able to deny. The loneliness and regret shapes in Ouma’s eyes, holding back all the feeling in him.

Step by step, Kaito approaches him, small taps filling his ears until he’s close enough and wraps his arms around the smaller boy, holding him just tight enough and just gentle enough. Right in the middle, neither too confident or too hesitant.

For a few moments, it feels as if he’s hugging a ghost; there’s nothing there, and it’s only limp what’s in his arms, even if he knows someone is there.

It’s only until the frail arms rest around his frame and tug him gently closer in return that he realizes how warm he truly feels and how much they both needed to experience warmth again.

And what Kaito finally understood in that moment, embracing him, was how relieving it truly felt to hear his voice, no matter how quiet or imperfect it sounded. In a way, he found it fitting that it wasn’t back to normal yet. He wasn’t exactly normal, either.

Hell, scratch that, he wasn’t even close to normal. He’s not sure he will be anytime soon.

But he’s sure they would reach that point where they could talk without reaching the verge of tears, the point when they could let their walls down and be able to show underneath the surface of their impenetrable grounds of ice.

He’d make sure he’d tell him about the plan, and he’d make sure he’d listen to Ouma’s suggestions and work with him, but above all that, he’d make sure he could finally understand him.

Ouma always confused him and irritated him, but now that those carefully placed bricks and pillars of both their facades collided with the ground, he finally came to peace that they weren’t so different after all.

The plan can wait until later.

Right now, he just wants to hold someone. He wants to hold him. He wants to forget the hangar and the coughing, he wants to forget all the bullshit he said to him, and he wants to become the shining star that he’s always dreamed of becoming. Just for a moment.

And maybe shining brightly with the boy in his arms by his side, just as bright as him wouldn’t be as bad as he thought back then.


End file.
